Friday morning, 7am and we were on our way to hospital. By 9am we were in theatre where I cuddled small boy while he had a needle put in the back of his hand (which had already been numbed with copious amounts of 'magic cream'); within seconds of the needle going in and the anaesthetic being pumped through, he was sound asleep in my arms. I popped him down on the operating table and hubby & I were quickly chivvied out of the room, told to go and get a coffee and come back in 25-30mins. So off we went to the cafe for drinks and a sausage sarnie for hubby, reading matter at the ready. The time flew by and we were back on the ward a few minutes before DC was wheeled in in the arms of a nurse, just coming round from his little sleep. For the next 30mins or so he was a bit teary and upset, probably caused as much by a feeling of 'where am I? what just happened?' as much as the discomfort of having an operation, but not long after 10am we were back in the car heading home and the distraction of being out and about did the trick and we had no more tears. Home by 10.30am, small boy tucked up in a blanket, cuddling his favourite teddy, drinking milk and watching Chuggington. 11.30am small boy running round the house, eating pureed lunch and acting as if nothing had happened.
The fact that Friday happened to be April Fool's Day wasn't lost on us; I was very tempted to phone Granny and tell her DC had been fitted with a lovely little set of falsies, but I didn't.